Dilapidated Idealism
by Midii Bloom
Summary: Draco is making his way ot a new Safe house when Harry Potter sees him and makes a scene. Rated T for later chapters. HP DM Slash.


Author's Note: Yeah, I can't seem to stick to writing one thing. Review if you want chapter two.

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The early morning sun drifted through the lofty windows in the ornate Manor's bedchamber, casting an angelic glow across the profile of his face. His profile was that of noble blood: high forehead, straight but not large nose, high cheekbones, and full, ripened lips, just enough to be a blend of arrogance and excitement. Even the way he slept spoke of power, royalty, and his bloodlines, showing he was born to rule. Or at least that was how it should have been. Instead he shifted slightly with a groan as the rocks of the alley pushed into the delicate skin of his arse. He pulled the cloak higher over his head as he slid from the disgusting smell next to him. Was that rotten tomato soup? Vile. His nose wrinkled against the pungent aroma as he moved to stand. His legs shook slightly from exhaustion that seemed on the borders of consuming him as his silent footfalls brought him towards the hard concrete of a sidewalk. Artic hues lit upon a street sign, shadowed in the blackened skies of fallen night. The sign, desolate under the illuminated glow of the street lights, read two words that cause a slight jump of his heart: Privet Drive. The figure, wrapped tightly in a black cloak, was only two streets away from the glorious shelter of his next safe house: the home of Arabella Figg. Heavy footfalls fell against the hard pavement under his feet, his track long, and his journey never ending. Draco Malfoy thought there would never be an end to his constant running.

He heard the cat long before he saw it, the loud meow piercing through his sensitive ears. He stared at the feline for several moments before it finally clicked that he was almost there. Lupin had left him instructions, telling him the once he saw the cats he would be just two clicks away from his destination. He glanced down he row of houses, squinting weary eyes until he found the house number. Heavy steps brought him slowly to stand outside the walkway of the safe house. He raised a hand quickly and rasped at the door, the old squib appearing to open it. She eyed him for a minute before pulling back his hood, showing off he telltale blonde hair for the world to see before she pulled him inside and shut the door with a rushed slam.

His form was still shrouded by the black cloak, not revealing how much weight he had lost in the two months he'd been apart from Hogwarts. His face and hair were absolutely filthy, covered in dirt, mud, and the grim life of living from street to street. He hadn't had a decent meal since his last safe house which had been two weeks prior. His complexion was much paler then normal, his face look almost translucent as it hung to the bones of his face. Dark circles seemed to be permanently smudged on his eyes. The once pureblood looked worn, tired, and on the verge of collapse as he stood there, surveyed under the inspection of the old hag. He received two soft clucks of her tongue, obviously in disapproval over his current state of being. Apathy was the only emotion to strike his mood, even as he was ushered to sit in a rickety old chair at a well-used table. The house itself held a homey feel he supposed, even if it was overrun by felines and the suspicious smell of cabbage. A leaded foot pulled up only to be brought back down with the beginnings of a stumble, the purring of the bastard feline who'd almost caused his demise pierced him with yellow eyes. He swore softly, muttering all the way until he was arranged in the bare furnishings and a cup of tea was set before him. The ragged looking male jumped from his seat as the angry rapping of a fist pounded on the door.

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The glass of the window paneling felt cool against the burning across his forehead, marked only by the scar in the bizarre shape of a lightning bolt. The reflection of the adolescent face daunted at him, as jade hues gazed unseeingly out towards the night sky. Two hopeless months had passed since the frightful day at Hogwarts, which still left him with a mixture of despondency and isolation. Two months since he has been sent back to the Hell of the Dursley's wondering when his torment would end. Two months since he wondered if he would live to see his eighteenth birthday, a year and three days seemed so long to exist. Two months since he had followed Dumbledore's orders only to watch the old coot die. Had everything they done been for naught if his greatest mentor had paid the price? How much did he really owe Dumbledore anyways? His life? What good was that when he wasn't allowed to live it? What if he couldn't save the world and protect the people he cared about at the same time? Why was there someone walking around in a cloak at this time of night? The last thought tripped up Harry Potter as he pushed his glasses higher to get a good look at the figure. There was someone in a cloak wandering the streets, what if they were here to kill him?

The raven-haired boy stood and quickly pulled a jacket over his bare black T-shirt as he silently crept through the house and out the door. If the person had come after him, wouldn't they have turned onto his street? Perhaps they had a different target or really bad sense of direction? Harry smirked to himself as he followed the figure in at a safe distance, his wand drawn protectively to his chest. He followed the unknown figure until he watched the person stop in front of Mrs. Figgs house, curiosity struck him and he moved up closer only to see something he'd hoped to never see in his life. Blond hair was revealed as a hood was pulled back, Harry didn't know how, and then they both disappeared in the door. What if Malfoy was going to kill Mrs. Figgs? Or worse Mrs. Figgs had turned to the Dark Side? Harry cursed himself for sounding like a Sat Wars repeat, but continued to march up to the door, banging his fist with an unmatched fury on the door, begging for someone to open it. What he saw when, a very alive, Mrs. Figgs opened the door was not something he ever thought he would see. A ragged, disgraceful looking Draco Malfoy was calmly sipping tea at her table.


End file.
